


Five Stages of Grief (The Never Mind The Albatross Remix)

by Ghostcat



Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Acceptance, Canon - Movie, F/M, Longing, Post-Movie, Romance, remix madness 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostcat/pseuds/Ghostcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>It’s only afterwards, when she’s sleeping, practically snoring, that you remember. The other guy. The “good” guy. The better choice. And you couldn’t give the smallest fuck.</em> </p><p>Logan Echolls adjusts to his new reality- the return of Veronica Mars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Stages of Grief (The Never Mind The Albatross Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [igrockspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Five Stages of Grief](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331443) by [igrockspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock). 
  * In response to a prompt by [igrockspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock) in the [remixmadness2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/remixmadness2015) collection. 



> Thank you to the lovely BryroseA for her astute beta read on this. All remaining errors are on me.

For one queasy moment you think _no_. No. Then— _they’re still together_. What you thought was flirting wasn’t. You’re an idiot. So happy to see her that you forgot that time hadn’t just stopped. It wasn’t enough to be the unluckiest sonofabitch in Southern California, you had to be a fool as well. Send in the clowns.

Then she flashes her eyes at you and looks away just as quickly. Guilty. That’s guilt. Veronica Mars hates getting caught being bad.

So you walk away and argue with yourself all night. A litany of stupids.

When you see her again, she brushes past you, fast and pesky, the usual moves. You try not to whine but you’re pathetic, you almost have to. You don’t tell her that Dick found out about the Piz Redux situation, which made things marginally better; you only say—not ask, _state_ —what you didn’t know. She gets defensive. Crosses her arms. Lifts her chin. _You broke the window. You kissed Yolanda. You spread that rumor. You lied. You. You. You._

You forget though, because she’s saving you, once again. And that’s better, maybe, than being the do-over. It means she loves you because that’s how she says it. She loves you. Always has. You love her too and you know you will keep placing your life at her feet like a dead, unwanted bird.

It’s a promise you can keep. Forever-keep, if it means she will stay.

She won’t leave, she texts _one more day. Getting there._ And, _I’m close, I can feel it_. You sit on your hands to keep from texting back something filthy, nostalgic, and 100% guaranteed to make her blood boil. Dick catches you mid-maniacal dither and narrows his eyes, shaking his head slowly and you laugh. Your first laugh in over a month. Then you go out into the night and walk into the ocean, fully clothed, and wait for the tide to take you away. It repeatedly returns you to shore.

When she finally kisses you it is both expected and unexpected. As natural as breathing. A very specific madness. The most implausible yet welcome outcome of this latest round of FML. Your body reacts before your brain can engage, she pulls, you spin. Veronica. Mouth opening and closing, gasping. Her hands, hot, her words whispered between clenched teeth, hissed and moaned with an aching relief. It’s only afterwards, when she’s sleeping, practically snoring, that you remember. The other guy. The “good” guy. The better choice. And you couldn’t give the smallest fuck.

Perhaps you’re still a bad boy after all.

She gets you off and she’s the one who makes the joke. You hold her, you kiss her, you remember. You go, she stays. You come back, she goes. You leave again but the connection is for keeps. She’s movie quotes at 2am, her time. She is photos: feeding mangoes to giraffes at the zoo, eating an about-to-topple ice cream, new freckles on her peeling nose. She is a flickering image on a computer screen. Smiling. Looking right over your head at something she clearly thinks is magnificent.

Sometime later, years and fights and makeups, but, surprisingly, no breakups, you find yourselves in New York. No case, or work. A vacation. She hums over her coffee, rubbing a socked foot on her calf. Quieting only when Piz's voice murmurs from the iPod, some NPR segment about long lost music unearthed in an attic in Newton, MA and the power of quiet perseverance.

“Call him. What’s the harm?”

“It’s so creepy that you knew what I was thinking, did I have a thought bubble, and also, I love you?”

You nod and hide your smile behind a bite of dry toast.

She meets up with Piz and returns so quickly, she doesn’t even have to explain. You hand her a bagel bomb from the Momofuku Milk Bar, she eats it sadly.

“There is no sadness with bagel bombs, Little Big Belly.”

“I know.” She looks up. “He’s still furious.”

“He has every right to be.”

She scowls. You wait for the crossed arms. Instead, she hugs you tighter, her jaw working against your chest while she chews. No matter what, keep chewing. It’s on the Mars family crest.

“You can’t always be the good guy, Veronica. Sometimes you have to acknowledge that that’s not what you are to some people.”

“Are you trying to tell me something, Logan?”

“No.” You brush her hair back. Kiss the spot on her head where she has a tiny scar. “You were never the bad guy to me. You're the hero.”

Her words are muffled, blank. “But what about senior year? You hated me.”

“In high school? I was seventeen. Of course I loved you. I just had to hide it behind some seriously dramatic moves. It was in my contract. One catty comment per day. Drunken broods twice-weekly. Fisticuffs. Salacious bantering and thwarted lust.”

She laughs and you know that you’ve won.

You go for a stroll on the Brooklyn Promenade that evening and as the lights twinkle on in Manhattan, she squeezes your hand.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For this.” She nods out past the ships to the glittering skyline.

You sigh, expansive, with the slightest bit of carefully rationed fidget. “It’s true. I bought you that view. I worked with numerous committees to make sure the lights went on just so.”

You frame the vista with your hands. It's a great shot.

Not to be outdone, Veronica counters, “Well, I made you that statue.” She juts her chin in the direction of the Statue of Liberty. “Out of papier-mâché and loads of cheese.”

“Mmm, I love a bit of gorgonzola.”

Veronica laughs.

“Logan?”

There’s a question there in your name, there’s always a question with Veronica Mars. You kiss her, that’s your reply.

_Yes._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: @ghostcat3000


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